Tinder

the oldest shaving burns like paper

I recall how Francie took the bark and rolled it in the dirt.

“Let’s get the truth imbibed in this.”

My movements are weak against the weight of the wood
I hold back the boughs as the tree bears down
but I am not strong enough to stop its motion,
and I know –

the oldest shaving burns like paper

Her eyes glistened. I loved to see her bent that way,
so oddly graceful down in the sawdust infested gravel
her hands pressing down into the dirt.

Shapes are the most beautiful things in the world
I love the shape of love.

I am feeling the moment grow more urgent
The sharp end of the trunk, now horizontal,
sweeps away and then harshly back toward me,
and I know –

the oldest shaving burns like paper

I recall how Francie held the cloth to my head

“Let’s get the truth imbibed in this.”

My eyes stare forward through and try to pass
the light from wherever light can be to my numbed senses
I am wild inside but the cage won’t forgive
and I know –

the oldest shaving burns like paper

Her smile warmed me. Like blood that you suddenly feel fires desire
and I reached for her without question
she slipped into the swirl of my being

Shapes are the most beautiful things in the world.
I love the shape of love.

And as still as the sound of something not there
I release myself into the moment.
My being is not fraught with pain or horror
but imbibed with truth.

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